Joan Armitrading – The Weakness in Me
Rule #1: If you see it, buy it.
I can’t tell you how important this rule is to a budding collector of anything – books, stamps, wives, or, like myself, music. If you’re wandering the aisles and spy some rare and tasty treat, the moment to act is now. Under no circumstances should you wait and come back later to get it. As all good Buddhists preach, there is no later. There is only now, the eternal instant. It is absolutely fundamental. I don’t know how many times I’ve broken this rule and gone on to regret it, swearing ruefully that this time I’ve finally learned my lesson. Opportunity knocks but once. Carpe diem. It might seem expensive, or an inconvenient moment, but do not be deterred. The momentary buyer’s remorse is nothing compared with the wide-awake nights of infinite regret.
One day, while idly flipping through used CDs down on Manhattan’s fruitful St. Mark’s Place, I stumbled across Joan Armatrading’s first album, Whatever’s For Us, which had gone almost immediately out of print as a CD (it has been sporadically reissued since then). Recognizing it for the rarity it was, I turned it over in my hands a couple of times, debating its merits, but then slipped it back in the rack and wandered on.
The next day, in a panic, I rushed downtown on my lunch hour, and frantically tore through the racks again. For once, I was not punished for my inability to act, for there it was, patiently waiting for me. I snapped it up, gladly handed the clerk my $7.99, and jumped back on the train uptown.
There are times when I can tell that my G is upset. She’s usually very good (too good, I sometimes think) at recognizing and talking about her feelings, but every now and then, she’ll be moping around the house, vaguely irritated or shapelessly sad. On those occasions, I’ll pull out this album, and slip it into the CD player. Ten minutes later, she’s weeping in my arms, pouring out her woes.
Joan Armatrading, a British singer born in the West Indies, has been quietly producing a powerful body of work for over 25 years – that first emotion-laden album was released in 1972. Although the contents of her work have been consistently strong, she’s wrapped her songs in many different styles over the years, from folk to jazz to new wave to funk. Although she’s never really been that popular, at least state-side, her remarkable body of poignantly emotional work has served as inspiration for many and comfort for many more.
Like me, none of my guy friends, perhaps no guys period, are that big on Joan. But even the manliest man realizes the need to show a softer, more vulnerable side to his mate in the dark, lonely hours of the night, so most guys I know have a little Joan (or Joni or Jewel or Alanis or Tori – they all serve a similar function) tucked away, even if it’s a leftover from an old girlfriend that never quite got thrown out. It wasn’t for me than I rode the train impatiently downtown, cursing my stupidity. It was for my girlfriend.
Although I don’t listen to her very often, there is some Joan I like quite a bit, and I do have a weakness in me (sorry) for this song. This song perfectly captures the bittersweet sadness of wanting what you can’t have – both lyrically and musically. The song sounds fragile and wistful to me, adding strings and drums as it gets going and as the emotions rise, and then stripping them away letting the chords and melody drift down as resignation sets in. I especially love the unfinished line in the middle: “If I choose now, I’ll lose out, one of you has to fall. And I need you, and you…” I never hear it as an admission that “I need you and you” (both of you), but as the inability to finish the thought “I need you and you need me”. I must’ve heard this song hundreds of times, and it still rarely fails to bring a lump to my throat.
Riding uptown, gratefully clutching a CD I didn’t really even want, I realized something had changed. My world of one was becoming two. I was no longer making decisions based on just what I wanted. My solitary solipsism was breaking down and I wasn’t quite the “only child” I had spent my life being. I had close friends, sure, almost unbearably close sometimes, but I faced the nights alone. Until Chris came along and became G to my B, until she saw me, shivering without my armor, and stayed with me anyway, holding me while I fell asleep, I thought I would live my life alone. Now, gratefully, I was turning into a couple (as Lene Lovich so succinctly put it, “number one is dumb and number two is best”), a couple that would someday double again, so much did our love overfloweth that we needed two extra (sippy) cups to hold it all. That day, happy to have a CD that, frankly, I hated, because I knew it would mean so much to my girlfriend, I realized my resolve to face the world with G by my side and to take the future as it came. Whatever’s for us, for us.